There is a way I should be doing this parenting thing. And yet with so many books, blogs, experts and advice-givers available to me, I still fly by the seat of my pants. So last night when we were walking home from the homecoming parade and my 7-year-old asked, “What was the float with the people dressed in rainbow colors that said ‘freak show’ on the side?” I did my best to explain what the LGBT rights float was about and that no, despite their poster, they are not freaks.

This is when the silent hubs — who passed on answering the question — finally piped in with, “Yeah, that was really counterproductive.”

Later on that evening I took the 7-year-old to CVS with me. While I was looking for some allergy medicine, he walked over holding a box and asked, “What’s this? ‘Eeneema?’ (trying to read the box) What does it do and where do you put it?” So I stood there in CVS and briefly explained the purpose of an enema and where it goes. He nodded and asked if he could go to the toy aisle.

“Yes! I’ll meet you there.” Is it OK to let your child wander around the store without you? Probably not, but it had just dawned on me that I should pick up a feminine product. Considering the night we were having, I thought about delaying this purchase. But, I knew if I put it off, the hubs (who does the grocery shopping) would eventually find it on his list.

I grabbed what I needed, stopped by the toy aisle to get the 7-year-old, and headed to the register. I put the products on the counter and, despite my best efforts to distract my son, he didn’t miss a beat. “Mom, what are ‘tampones’?”

The teenage boy who was ringing up my purchases did his best to keep a straight face. I didn’t have it in me this time. “Girl stuff. Would you like a bag of Cracker Jacks?”

When we got home, I went upstairs to find the hubs and the toddler. “How was your trip to CVS?” the hubs asked.

“Um, fine…,” I looked behind him to see if our 7-year-old was within earshot.

“Well, you missed an exciting evening at home. Little man pooped in the bathtub.”

I had to smile. I looked at the toddler and asked, “Did you poop in the bathtub?”

now, i have traveled every continent and done everything (and more) one might expect of a male of my generation (think ‘rat pack’ sans inhibitions.); i have woken disbelievingly bare assed, entangled with three ‘dancers’ from the folies pigalle, one of whom bogarted most of the opium the night before; i have found myself inadvertently pissing in the snow on a Vail ‘blue’ in front of a former president of the united states; i once hit on linda ronstadt in an oakland dive thinking the ‘chubby chick’ would be happy someone was paying attention to her…

in other words, i am a past master.

yet there is nothing quite a special as standing in a busy checkout line of the prairie village hy vee as your six-year old daughter inquires:

“daddy, but HOW does the special seed from a man’s penis get into the mommy’s vagina?”